Operation WATSON
by DoombotScout
Summary: Supposedly, Sherlock Holmes can tell every single one of your dirty secrets just by looking at you. But that is not always the case. Take his best friend John Watson, for instance. Although Sherlock THINKS he knows everything, well, he really doesn't. Because, you see, John's a super-villain in hiding, and he's managed to fool Mr. Holmes. But the real question is-how much longer?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first book of what hopefully will be a series with villains from different fandoms (if you have any ideas, PM me!), but we'll see where it goes.**

 **IMPORTANT: This story has Avengers from the first movie (I'm ignoring Age of Ultron - Ultron was instead created by Hank Pym who was brainwashed to forget about him as is canon in the comics, but Mr. Pym will not be appearing in this fic, just mentioned). Also, *NECESSARY SPOILER ALERT* it features Grim Reaper (who I really like for some reason). So basically, he thinks the Avengers killed his brother just like in the comics, (who will actually remain dead and will, in this AU, have been appearing to have been acting entirely on his own,) and Ultron was the one who gave both of them powers. Also, Grim Reaper had been put in jail, but, well… he escaped and went to Ultron for help.**

 **As far as Sherlock goes, Mary and Baby Watson (who would both really get in the way of this fic if they were alive) are both dead.**

 **So yeah, if this doesn't bother you, read on!**

 **NOTICE: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO HAVE READ THE COMICS TO READ THIS STORY, I WILL BE INCLUDING BACKSTORY IN A LATER CHAPTER**

 **2nd A/N: Sorry, but I just thought that it would be best to add that when not addressed by name, Ultron will be commonly referred to as the Boss, the Crimson Cowl, or just the Cowl. If you get why Crimson Cowl, kudos to you! If not, just ask if you really wanna know. Or you can roll with it and take it as it is, which is totally cool.**

 **Disclaimer, I do not own The Avengers or Sherlock, but that would be really cool if I did. But no… all I own is a cat.**

 _Background ( other than A/N which you really should read to understand the story better along with this ) :_

 _Ultron (whose existence is unknown to most of the world) provides relocation for criminals on the run in a service called the Super-Villain Relocation Program (SVRP for short). He hypnotizes people and expertly falsifies papers to give villains a sound alibi; he gives them new identities, a new look, and a new home. The hitch: he assigns them with a supervisor - to make sure his clients don't step out of line and risk getting detected, to protect them when absolutely necessary, and to make sure they don't run away and hide from him… because the price they pay for this service is that they owe Ultron a favor, a job for him, you could say. And just as the villains (secure in many different fandoms and places over the world) are settling down to their new surroundings and role in life, Ultron cashes his favor in, changing the lives of the hiding criminals and those that they are surrounded by forever in many interesting ways, as the Avengers are trying to hunt all of the criminals down._

Chapter 1:

 **[Crime Scene, London]**

John Hamish Watson sighed as he raced after his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. They had just gotten to the crime scene when, after a quick cursory glance, Sherlock had deduced the murderer, and after giving a little more information to Lestrade and a silently fuming Donovan as to where to find said killer, he had rushed briskly off, calling out to John to "come along" as if he was some sad lost puppy.

 _Poor guy,_ John thought, _He really doesn't have the slightest idea to who I really am, does he?_ He shook his head in wonder. _For a master in his so-called "Science of Deduction", he really overlooks things sometimes, doesn't he?_ John chuckled quietly to himself. But for once, he was grateful that the great Sherlock Holmes had, at last, failed to notice something. It was quite reassuring to him and his identity as it was.

 **[221B Baker Street]**

Back at the flat, John immediately flopped down on his armchair, sighing in a depressed way.

"God, I'm exhausted," he sighed in his British accent. It wasn't a very strong accent to be honest, so he didn't sound exactly like he'd lived in London his whole life, but the fact that he had "served in Afghanistan" for a while - meaning that he had mingled with many other men of different nationalities - made Sherlock not question this little fact too much, thankfully.

"That's the problem with you, John." Sherlock told him curtly. "You like to rest. I find that sleep is overrated. It's a waste of time, and to be quite frank, it dulls your senses. Now where is my skull?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll tell you where your stupid skull is if you hand over my phone," John said grumpily, acting slightly out of character. But hey, he was tired, and he had just found that his phone was missing from his pocket.

Sherlock sighed and offered said phone back to him. "But _John,_ " he complained, "I was _using_ it."

"Well, now _I'm_ using it, so I would appreciate it if you used your own cell. You do have one, you know," John grumbled. "Now, about that sleep…"

He casually turned on his phone, checking to see whether he had any texts that weren't from Sherlock. He suddenly stiffened, so slightly that it was completely unnoticeable unless you were looking hard enough, as he noticed that he had a message from his "old friend" Mike Stamford.

 _Hey, John! I was thinking, do you want to meet me at that café by your flat for lunch today? -Your pal, Mikey_

Darn. Well, if _Mike_ wanted to meet up with him, John bet that it was something that would be ill befitting for him to ignore the man.

Even though he was tired, he sighed and texted him back immediately.

 _Yeah, sounds great! Sorry, we went on a case and Sherlock took my phone, so I didn't get your text until just now. It's a little late for lunch, but do you wanna meet up anyways? It's been far too long._

Just over a minute later, Mike Stamford responded. John glanced anxiously down at the phone, heart pounding slightly.

 _Yeah, sounds excellent! Hey, no worries, I know how Sherlock is. However, I had to take some time off work, and I'd thought we could meet up, though the boss isn't too happy. It looks like my job is probably secured, though! How does 20 minutes from now sound for a pre-dinner cup of tea? -Mikey :)_

John sighed in relief. The part about the job was sloppily written, it didn't make much sense to an outsider, but John knew that it wasn't actually about Mike, but simply telling him that John's identity wasn't at stake, and that it was very likely that he hadn't fallen out of his benefactor's good graces just because of his tardiness. He steeled himself for the upcoming conversation, not looking forward to it.

He shot off a quick text; " _sounds great see ya there!"_ and turned to Sherlock.

"Ok, Sherlock, I'm going out," he told his friend.

Sherlock looked up sharply in surprise. "Out? Where? Where do you have to go?" He scoffed slightly at this, as if the idea of John having a social life was atrocious.

"I do have a life outside of you, you know," John scolded.

"Hardly," Sherlock muttered just loud enough for John to hear.

"If you really must know, I'm going to meet Mike Stamford for a bite to eat before dinner."

"Yes, yes, very well, I hardly care."

John scoffed at this, it was obviously a lie.

"Oh well. Ta! I'll just be here, figuring out your password for your second email account!"

"Ok, sure sounds goo- Wait! How do you even know that I have a second email account?"

Sherlock looked flatly back at him. "John, really. You once used your second email to send yourself a," he grimaced, "selfie. Of your own self. Which is ridiculous, but then again the picture's also your profile picture for your email that you sent it to, the one that I was on, so obviously the second account is older than this one, and after your old laptop broke down you lost all your 'photogenic' pictures of yourself, meaning that you were forced to email yourself your current profile picture so that you could use it for this email account."

"Brilliant!" John complimented his friend brightly, actually enthused that Sherlock had not quite gotten it right; the Boss had sent him that picture to remind him of his new identity in his first few weeks as John Watson so he didn't have any slip-ups, and John had thought that it wasn't actually a terrible picture, so he had copied it and sent it to his more… public email account to use as his profile picture. Of _course_ Sherlock had found out about his rare moment of laziness. But fortunately…

"You'll never guess the passcode." John grinned.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I will." Sherlock sniffed. "Your passwords are abysmally easy, it should only take a matter of minutes."

Then, a supreme look of concentration passed over Sherlock's face, and his fingers began to type rapidly, he was obviously attempting to guess at his friend's password.

Normally, John would be worried, except for the fact that there was no way that Sherlock could deduce this one, it had nothing to do with John Watson, and everything to do with the man that he secretly was. There was no way… _was there?_

 _No, there really isn't,_ he reassured himself, and promptly left his apartment.

 **[The Café]**

"Hello _, Mr. Watson,_ " Mike Stamford said with a smug smirk as John plopped down into the seat across from him.

"Oh, do shut up, stop rubbing it in," John snapped.

"Careful, if you take that tone on me, you might just end up paying for it, _Eric_." Mike told him smugly, changing tactics.

"That ain't better at _all_. Tone it down a little, will ya?" John muttered furiously to the man across from him. "This is a _public_ place, must I remind you?"

"Oh, really?" Stamford said in his pompous British accent. "Then how come you were speaking like an American just then."

John quickly realized his mistake, and fixed it immediately. "So, Mike, is this about the debt that I owe the boss man?"

"Boss _man_?" Stamford inquired laughingly. "Oh, Eric, you never cease to amuse me."

"Keep this up, and there won't be anything _left_ of you for you to be amused."

"Oh, but my dear Mr. Williams, you wouldn't dare. You know of the consequences, do you not?"

"Alright, alright, I'll listen to you, you friggin' manipulative bas-"

"Language, Williams."

"Gah! Just tell me what y' want, won't ya?"

"If you stop being so… _obviously American._ "

"Oops. Well, it's your fault, you know."

"Yes, I am aware." Mike winked cheekily.

John gritted his teeth. "Well, what does _he_ want."

"Oh, the Cowl? He merely wants to let you know that the time is near."

"For my service to him?"

"Why, of course!"

"Just checking."

"Indeed."

"Well," John cleared his throat awkwardly, "I'd best be going. Oh, I'm sorry, is that _allowed?_ " he asked slightly mockingly.

"Yes, indeed it is. But wouldn't you like to stay for some tea?"

"No, thank you." John hissed through his teeth. "Let me know when Crimsy's going to cash in his favor."

"Will do, indeed, Mr. Williams. Oh, and my condolences to you about your brother."

"Why you…" John nearly lunged at Mike. "Lesson number one: don't mention my brother Simon. Ever."

Mike just smirked.

"Well, goodbye then," John finished their not-so pleasant conversation curtly, and stalked out of the quaint restaurant without another word, slamming the door behind him.

 **[221B Baker Street]**

"Back so soon?" Sherlock asked, a frown on his face, still hunched over the computer, looking slightly frustrated.

"Still haven't cracked that passcode yet, huh, Sherlock?" John asked amusedly in reply.

"Well, I had deduced that you'd be out a little longer since you were going out to see a friend, and, well, your email has proven to be a little… problematic to get into, to say the least."

"You don't have the faintest idea how to crack this particular case, do you."

"Damn you, John! Why can't you be like all of the others? Why can't you make your passcodes obvious and not complex?"

John peered over his shoulder.

"MaryWatson? Really? You think my password would be my dead wife's name?"

Mary had died giving birth, and the child had proved to be stillborn. John frequently wondered whether the Boss had a hand in that.

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know, it's a possibility. You're the one who knows about people's emotions and how they deal with loss."

 _You don't know nearly how much experience I have with loss, Sherlock._

But instead, John said, "Goodnight Sherlock, and good luck with that password."

"I shall not rest until I figure it out!" Sherlock solemnly vowed.

"Well, you might be reduced to a pile of bones before you leave that chair, in that case. It was nice knowing you." John said in a deadpan voice.

But since he knew that Sherlock would probably go through with his vow, John reluctantly decided to throw his friend a bone and see where it got him.

Once he got into his room, he turned on his phone, logged into his second email, and used a special line of computer code that the Boss had given him. It technically should have been impossible for it to work, but… well… when it came to machines, the Crimson Cowl was _the one_ to defy the laws of really any machine.

Once in effect, the code replaced his and the Boss's correspondences with friendly emails between John and some of his "Soldier friends". And then, because he really actually cared about Sherlock in real life and not just acting it, he quickly went onto his blog and made a few small, almost unnoticeable edits to his first case posted _, A Study In Pink,_ just a ghost of a hint as to his password, but he knew it was enough for Sherlock to figure it out, as he undoubtedly would turn to John's blog to see if it presented any previously unnoticed hints to the Elusive Password case.

 _Hey, actually I should post this on my blog,_ John thought amusedly. _It really would probably make a good case! Or, at the very least, a humorous story that will remind people that Sherlock's only human._

Setting his phone to vibrate and plugging it into the charger, John very nearly collapsed onto his bed, readily succumbing to the fatigue that plagued him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! I expected nobody to actually read this, so thank you guys SO MUCH for your support! This story may be kind of confusing, I know, but just deal with it. This is basically what I write when I'm suffering from writer's block with my other stories, so don't expect consistent updates, but I WILL NOT ABAMDON THIS! Anyways, enjoy this new chapter!**

Chapter 2:

[221B Baker Street]

John finally woke up at around 8:30 the next day and, still blurry-eyed from his recent venture into the realm of sleep, he eagerly checked his phone to see whether or not Sherlock had solved his little puzzle over the night. It appeared he had, though just a short while ago, because the text had been sent at 8:00.

 _What on earth does "GrimBrotherSimon" mean to you, John? Why ever would it be your password? -SH_

John grinned in satisfaction at the fact that it'd taken Sherlock so long to figure it out. However, the blatant question sent a painful twinge through his heart, though he tried to ignore it as he typed a reply.

 _Took you long enough. I see you found my clue, yes?_

 _Yes. But who is this "Simon" to you? -SH_

John froze. He quickly wracked his brains for a reasonable answer. He hastily typed out an answer to his friend's question.

 _Simon is what I wanted to name our son if Mary and I ever had one._

John was still congratulating him for his save when Sherlock texted him back.

 _I see. And why "Brother"? -SH_

By now, John was on a roll, and this didn't really throw him off.

 _Because he'd be the brother to our daughter._

 _What about the "Grim"? -SH_

 _Because, it is a dream of a life that can never be._ Was John's simple reply.

A pause in the conversation. Then…

 _Is this the part where I'm supposed to say something comforting? -SH_

John grinned, classic Sherlock.

 _Well, yes, but you don't really have to. I was going to change the password anyways. Promise you won't try to hack in again?_

 _Until I get bored, I shall refrain from accessing this particular email as much as humanly possible. -SH_

 _That's all I ask._

With that matter settled, John quickly went onto his email and changed the password; secure yet again, he reversed the computer code so that his communications with the Boss came back up. His heart stopped for a second when he realized that he had a new message.

 _Reaper-_

 _I hear you had a little disagreement with Mr. Stamford yesterday. Make sure that this does not happen again. If not, you will be hearing from me, Mr. Williams. Or rather, you will be hearing from the prosthetic that I so kindly gifted to you as a part of your SVRP package._

 _On another note, I believe that, if you were actually listening to Mr. Stamford, you are aware of the fact that I will soon have a job for you so that you may begin your payback to me and, admittedly, your enemies. You will be pleased to know that your task will probably involve The Avengers. You're welcome. Be prepared for action, don't get too comfortable with that "cushy civilian life" of yours. I shall send somebody to collect you when the time comes. I will be seeing you soon._

 _-Ultron_

John's eyes widened slightly when he read the email. After sparing a quick glance at his right hand, which was actually a robotic prosthetic designed for him by the Cowl, Ultron himself, and covered with an extremely convincing fake flesh. Of course _he_ controlled the hand for the majority of the time, but he also didn't doubt for an instant that Ultron would make good his threat and would be able to take control of the _mechanical arm that he had made_ , so John made a quick vow to be on his best behavior when it came to Ultron. He typed a quick email in reply to the Boss's.

 _Ultron,_

 _I hear ya, I'll be awaiting your beckons. The timing's pretty good too, 'cause Sherlock seems to be on to me, at least a little bit. He even discovered this email account, though I tried out your coding that you sent me for emergencies. It worked like a charm. Good job, thanks!_

 _But seriously, Stamford was totally out of line. Calling me by my real name, and provoking me - mentioning Simon and such. Please take note of this, that is all I ask of you._

 _Anyways, if the job involves The Avengers, I probably woulda helped you out even without the debt I owe you. For Simon._

 _I'll polish my scythe later today, I think._

 _Reaper._

With this business taken care of, John turned off his phone and headed downstairs, wondering what Sherlock was up to. Probably shooting the wall again, either that or he was looking for some cases for the two of them to take on, hopefully the latter.

However, Sherlock Holmes was _not_ , in fact, doing either of those things, but instead sitting on his chair, staring intently at the stairs as if waiting for John to descend them.

When John entered the room, Sherlock watched him silently, as if trying to deduce him, as John brewed himself up some tea (he thought that coffee was better, but he had to keep up the image of being British, so he was, most unfortunately, stuck with bags of flavored, not-nearly strong enough caffeine).  
Finally, John had had enough of Sherlock's staring, and decided to confront him about it. "What's up, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly.

"You. You, John Hamish Watson, are the problem."

"Oh? How so?" John asked curiously, starting to get a little bit concerned now.

"Those emails on your other account."

"What about them?"

"They were false."

John froze _. How? How did he figure that out._

"What makes you think that? And, uh, the short version please Sherlock."

"As you wish, John. The emails were obviously false because first of all, the email addresses, although being real ones, were all spam mail accounts, and also, one of the men you were emailing to. 'Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes' his name was, I believe. First of all, you never mentioned him to me or anybody else, trust me, I know, I've been asking around. Second, the most recent Sergeant James Barnes fought in World War II. So, John, I want to know, what exactly were these emails replacing? If I went back on your account, would I find the same emails as I did yesterday?"

John sighed, and looked Sherlock in the eyes. "No." He confirmed reluctantly.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised at the blatant admission. He quickly snatched up the laptop, and attempted to login to John's email.

Just as he typed in "GrimBrotherSimon" and attempted to access the account, John helpfully added, "I changed the password, by the way."

Sherlock gritted his teeth noticeably. "I can see that. But _whyyyyyyyy?"_

Sherlock said this last part like how a child would beg for candy, but John caught the subtle undertones, the tone of hurt and betrayal, the poor man obviously having not been expecting this kind of thing from his best friend.

John did some quick thinking, and, loath to lie to Sherlock and yet knowing that it was absolutely necessary, put on his best façade and began the act, hoping with all his heart, for both Sherlock's sake and his, that his friend would buy it.

"Oh, Sherlock, it really hurts me to have done this to you, I'm so sorry. But, well, you sort of know almost every detail of my life, and when I remembered my old email account, I changed the password and modified the account so that I could get in touch with some old friends, and when one of them, who happens to be a computer genius, offered me a line of code I could use in case I needed some privacy on my account and, well, Sherlock, a man needs to have _some_ secrets, or else he's not really a man at all!"

"Your profile picture is a scythe."

"I was grieving at the time, okay?"

Sherlock sighed, "Your reasons are sound - I don't understand, but I suppose that the average human mind strives to possess some information that belongs solely to itself. It makes sense, in an odd, backwards way. I suppose."

Sherlock put on a deep concentrating face, and John felt another twang in his gut when he thought back on all of the times he had lied to this man. But then he pushed all of the feelings back down again, and put on a brave face.

"Friends?" He asked softly, touching Sherlock's shoulder.

He sighed. "Friends. Now, there's an interesting 8 that Lestrade told me about at some fancy, high-security hotel, would you like to go and check it out?"

John grinned elatedly. "More than anything in the world."

 **A/N: And that's a wrap! Hope you liked! (This story may be a little weird, but I simply don't care.)**

 **-Doom**


End file.
